


Personal Space

by hearts_blood



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling and Snuggling, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/hearts_blood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes sounding sad and pathetic meant Sherlock Holmes was up to something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speccygeekgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/gifts).



> Written for the prompt "Don't you dare."

 Unless he'd been drugged, drunk, or beaten the night before, John usually knew when there was someone in the vicinity of his bed. It was the kind of sixth sense one picked up, after enough combat. "Problem, Sherlock?" he asked. His voice sounded sleepy but he was perfectly awake and alert. The only reason he remained lying on his side, turned away from the door, was because he was comfortable just there.

He did try to move when Sherlock flopped his long body on John's bed and curled up behind him, but by then Sherlock had his arm flung over his chest and John was pinned.

"It's pouring outside and my bedroom ceiling's sprung a leak. Right over my bed, too."

"...Sherlock, we're on the first floor. There's another flat above ours. How could—and what are you doing snuggling up to me when there's a perfectly good sofa in the sitting room?"

"Hmm. Too exposed. And the sofa stinks of cigarettes. I'm trying to quit you know."

"Okay..." With a little maneuvering, John managed to reach over and turn on the bedside lamp. "Sherlock--"

"Problem?"

"Yes. You're in my bed."

"So?"

"Well, you could've asked first."

Sherlock let out a huff; John could practically see him rolling his eyes. " _Fine._ John, can I sleep with you tonight?" he asked in a mincing little sing-song. "I had a bad dream and I can't find my teddy bear."

"You don't have a teddy bear."

"I know. Maybe I should get one. I used to have one."

"What happened to it?"

"Set fire to it when I was seven. Look, I just don't feel like being alone tonight, okay?"

Sherlock Holmes sounding sad and pathetic meant Sherlock Holmes was up to something. "Sherlock, you can't walk into my bedroom and get into my bed and—" John twisted a bit under the arm resting on his ribcage. "And put your arms around me and, well, you can't. You just can't."

"Why not?"

"Right, okay... Maybe it's time we talked about boundaries again. You know, personal space, personal bubbles, that sort of thing--"

"That sort of thing. Why d'you want to talk about that sort of thing at half past two in the morning?"

"Because clearly, there's no time like the present and—okay," John hissed, "you've got a goddamn log digging into my back—could you _please_ move that thing?"

"It's just an erect penis. Hardly anything to panic over. Are you sure you're still a doctor?"

"Look, just put it somewhere else, okay?"

"Where?"

John froze. "What?"

"Where do you want me to put it?"

"Back in your own bed, preferably."

"Can't sleep in there, the window's bust."

"No, it isn't."

"Hmm. You're right. Stop playing."

"I'm not playing, now get the hell out of my bed."

"Your voice has gone raspy. Your throat's dry, why's your throat dry? Physiological reaction to sexual stimulus? Respiration shallow, heart racing, muscle tension and body temperature have increased, you lifted your head just now to look at your bedside table, why, that's where you keep your condoms and that bottle of lube you don't want your girlfriends to use and you just unbuttoned the fly of your pyjamas to relieve the pressure on your groin—Conclusion: you're sexually aroused and want to shag my brains out. Which is fine, so long as the brains don't get damaged. I need those."

The last of his patience gone, John flipped over and attacked Sherlock's mouth. "If this is another one of your fucking little experiments," John said when he was through, and speaking very clearly, "I swear to God I will leave tomorrow."

"Good choice of expletives."

"Oh, for God's sake," John groaned, pushing himself up on his hands, "don't do this to me..."

"Of course it's an experiment. Everything's an experiment. I came into your bedroom, got into your bed, did and said what I think were some _very_ exciting things—"

"Jesus, if that's your idea of 'exciting'—"

"Because I wanted to see _what you would do._ "

"Why?" John demanded.

"Deduce it." Sherlock's hands were on John's biceps. He might have been steadying the shorter man. He might have been studying the way his muscles were shaking. "Why tomorrow? You said if this was an experiment, you'd leave tomorrow. Why not tonight, why not right now?"

John kissed him again, hard. "Well, if I leave tonight, I won't get to shag your brains out."

Sherlock grinned like a maniac and kissed him back.


End file.
